This Full House Archive

Category: Glen

Kids Grow Up, Leaves Continue to Fall, You’ll Get Over It (Okay, now you tell me!)

I was never a big fan of daylight savings time — especially in the spring, when my kids were younger and they would run around at 8:00 p.m., their bodies insisting that…NUH-UH!!!…it's not bedtime, because it's really 7:00 p.m.

On the other hand, I could always come up with a way to put that extra hour we'd get in the fall to good use.

Today, my husband tackled lots of little p.i.t.a. jobs around the house (that multiply quicker than dust bunnies, if left unattended) while my son and I hit the backyard…HARD!!!…and raked the daylights out of all the leaves that seemed to have dropped overnight.

Glen in Autumn of 2000

Now that my kids are older, I can't help but think back to the days when stuff like raking the leaves was actually fun and it doesn't take me very long before I get all…MAH BAYBEEEEEEEES…when did they get SO GROWN?!?…and stuff.

Glen today, raking the daylights out of our backyard.

Then, it's time to drag the tarp filled with wet leaves to the compost pile behind the pool and…DAAAAAANG…if I don't get over the…MAH BAYBEEEEEEEES…pretty quick, too.

Aaaaaand, with snow-shoveling season just around the corner…I'm pretty sure I will continue getting over it…well into springtime 😉

2003 -2013 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook and everything!

I'm NaBloPoMo-ing it, feel free to check out what I've NaBloPoMo-ed, so far (PHEW!) and let me know how I'm doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!

November 3, 2013
Male Bonding, in a Houseful of Females, is Sticky!

father & son, discussing manly things ~ june 2007

I love this picture for so many reasons, but mostly because my son and husband weren't aware of my taking it (which is a great feat in and of itself, especially for a clumsy dork like myself, trust me on this!) and, in my stealthiness, I was able to capture an intimate moment between father and son.

Don't EVEN get me started on how I just realized that my son still had his baby face in the 2nd grade or how blonde his hair would get by the end of the summer.

Aaaaand, how the kid was (and still is) an absolute magnet for bug bites — look at his poor leg all bitten up and everything.

My husband, on the other hand, could stay out for hours and not have to swat at a single bug — except for gnats, because those little suckers are relentless – I swear, the man is a walking, talking insect repellent.

Aaaaand, he would have you believe it's because of his sour disposition, to which I will gladly call bullsh&t, each and every time AND most of you guys already know, I am married to a saint.

Lately, however, I can't say living with the both of them…under the same roof…has been a slice of heaven.

so close, yet so far

Don't get me wrong, they are wonderful human beings and both have very soft and squishy hearts (which is good, when you live with a bunch of females); it's just that together, well, they butt heads…a lot…like a couple of enraged mountain goats.

As if tensions weren't high enough, with a pre-menopausal mother in a houseful of teenage daughters, right?!?

However, when my daughters and I do battle, it's mostly about their borrowing my clothes without asking or having any intentions of giving them back…cough, cough…HOLLY…cough, cough…or consuming the LAST pod of coffee…cough, cough…HEATHER…cough, cough…and don't EVEN get me started on my youngest daughter's habit of having the last word…WORD, INFINITY!

glen all duded up for the 8th grade dance ~ june 2013

I mean, I get it: it's like an alpha male sort of thing, right?!? RIGHT?!?

[cue pack of hyenas, laughing]

Riiiiiiiiiight.

I can't help it — growing up in a house with someone yelling at someone else, all the time — the butting head thing is making me a little crazy. Okay, crazier than usual. So does the inevitable radio silence, afterwards.

This week?!? Totally nutty — like in, holy crap on a cracker, can we PLEASE have a do-over?!? — the sort of crazy that will keep even a non-pre-menopausal woman up at night…worrying about every little thing she canNOT control…btw, she is also very well aware of that fact…DAMMIT!!!

Aaaaand, then it hit her…I mean me…like a brick upside the head: it's NOT them, it's me!

Or, my stupidly high expectations of wanting to recapture that same intimate moment between the top two on my list of the most important men in my life.

Rather than just enjoy small, fleeting moments of simply being.

"Did you have a good time at the dance?"

Content with understanding that perhaps now they just are NOT meant to include me.

"Yeah, and Dad is a ninja at drop-offs and pick-ups!"

Aaaaand, well, I'm okay with that, too.

"He doesn't curse near as much as YOU do."

Then again, this male bonding thing…highly overrated…don'tcha think?!?

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything!

June 21, 2013
Tell Them About My Name

My kids love hearing the stories behind their namesakes and each still pretty much like their given names, except for our youngest: while playing a name game at a friend's baby shower, Hope insisted she wanted to be called Robin.

"How come my name doesn't start with a H, like the girls?"

For two reasons: naming your children with the same letter sounds harmless enough, until you try hollering for one of them, and can't seem to remember their names, without sounding like an idiot…each and every blessed time…because, I'm smart like that.

There is also a pretty neat and totally goosebump-worthy story behind the reason why we chose to name our son, Glen.

One of my husband Garth's (not his real name) earliest childhood memories was from the summer when he was about 4 years-old: he fell into a rose bush, ten times his size (as he remembers it) when a really big boy from the neighborhood ran over and, without hesitation reached in through the thorns, lifted him out, brushed him off and then walked him home.

The really big boy was a 19-year old, his name was Glen Bates — a few months later, he was killed in Vietnam.

But wait, my story is about to get a whole lot goosebump-ier.

(more…)

April 29, 2013
A Clean House Is a Sign of a Cluttered Mind
Artwork currently displayed in our library (a.k.a. bathroom)

If I had to describe our house to you, in one word, and focusing on the positive, rather than ALL of the other annoying stuff that accumulates, when blessed, as a homeowner <—– that last part was for my husband, Garth (not his real name) —–> who sometimes needs help looking past all that other annoying stuff, bless his hardworking and very squishy heart.

Sooooo, what were we talking about?

[blows bangs out of eyes, stares at yet another big old water stain, on the ceiling above the dryer, don't ask]

Oh yeah. Focusing on the positive. Right. So, I would most likely agree with what other folks have described as some sort of super power for creating: cozy.

[glances at laundry, closes eyes]

Clutter, on the other hand, is my kryptonite.

I was raised in an even smaller house: 6 rooms (including the bathroom) so, we learned to be very creative when hiding stuff; especially, whenever friends and family would come over for a visit.

Of course, unlike me or my children, my mother was MUCH better at remembering where she put stuff. So, after 20 years of raising 4 kids and killer dust bunnies, spring cleaning has become quite the adventure.

Every year, I find stuff like:
- Family photos dating back to about 20 years — you know, the ones I've been meaning to put into that scrapbook I started, 20 years ago.
- School pictures I meant to mail out to family — so THAT'S where they went!
- A couple of years worth of report cards — before our schools went paperless (cue choir of angels, singing)!
- OH LOOK!!! One of my husband's Christmas presents — shhhhhh, I put it away for Father's Day (SCORE!!!) don't tell him, okay?!?
- Pairless shoes, socks and a couple of bras — don't ask!
- Petrified, sometimes unidentifiable, food — see previous bullet.
- Stuff that looks like it may or may not have been alive, at one time.
- What the?!? Never mind. I don't EVEN want to know.
It's at this point, I begin to feel weak and imagine myself as an unwilling participant in some sort of twisted scavenger hunt.

[pausing to allow those with younger kids and/or childless individuals to click away…QUICKLY…while you can]

WAIT!!! All is not lost. There are times when I happen upon a real gem — like a poem, gifted to me by my teenage son:

No matter what happens you are always there,
You make us dinner,
You clean our clothes,
You help us with homework,
You are always there,
No matter what happens we can trust you to help,
When you try and cover up pain we see it,
You do not realize how much you mean to us,
Please know that we will love you forever,
You are an amazing Mother
And you will always be there.

I hung it in our bathroom…I mean, our library…because, I sometimes also need help looking past all that other annoying stuff that accumulates, when blessed, as a parent.

Aaaaand, it happens to hide the hair dye…I mistakenly splashed ALL over the wall…really, really well…too.

Because, I am multi-functional like that.

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

New and improved with a fan page on Facebook and everything!
April 3, 2013
No More Wrestling, With Wrestling

#nofilter, just a really bad picture.

This picture is a little grainy — sort of like our eleventy-hundred-year-old dining room floor — and kind of cool, too. Looking at it a little closer, it also reminds me a little of my childhood: watching Lucha Libre on UHF (look it up, youngsters!) and the awful television reception we sometimes had at our house.

Today? It very well might be an app on someone's smartphone. Weird, right?

Aaaaanyway, my son's wrestling team had their last meet, so I snapped off a quick pic of the last time the boy would wrestle for the middle school team.

I cannot begin to tell you just how very disappointed he was at the thought of not wrestling for the rest of the school year, and how very unhappy I am about his wanting to tryout for the high school wrestling team, without sounding like a total jerk about it.

Long story, short (we hope!) my son is over 6 feet tall (that 1 inch really does make a difference, trust me!) and, well, most middle school wrestlers are under 6 feet tall.

Many high school wrestlers are also a lot smaller than my son.

He is all arms and legs (see picture, above) so, he is basically re-learning how to control his limbs and is pretty funny about it, flailing his arms and legs around to make me laugh and possibly forgetting about his leaving a trail of wet towels in his room…AGAIN…dammit!!!

"Do the alien from Independence Day, again!"

Because, when parenting teenagers, we are ALL about referring to movies and sometimes even misquoting popular 80's song lyrics — Mama don't preach, you're in trouble deep! — hey, whatever works, right?!?

Aaaaanyway, he wrestled but one real match (that actually counted) and other two (including the one up in that photo) were exhibition matches.

Basically, I watched the boy watch the rest of his wrestling team wrestle.

Still, unless if he was sick (with 4 kids, and the oldest one working in a hospital, chances are YES!) the kid attended every wrestling practice and meet — even though there was no guarantee that he would wrestle or that there would be time for an exhibition match – which makes that grainy-looking picture up there…totally awesome…to me, anyway.

"I knew you and Hopey were watching."

So, when I tell you he happened to actually WIN that wrestling match up there and I'm all, like…YAY!!!…this is how I want to remember wrestling.

"It was like a battle cry went off, in my head!"

Also, the part when my husband asked him how it felt to win his last (and first) match.

"I felt like a Spartan!"

Spartans, tonight, we dine in hell!!!

[sound of crickets, chirping]

300? Battle of Thermopylae?

[blank stare]

Look, over there, isn't that Gerard Butler?!?

[cue sound of door, SLAMMING!]

Stupid historical fantasies, dumbass Spartans.

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

February 22, 2013
The Voice (is now most definitely) Male

My 14-year-old son's voice has changed, quite a bit. He insisted that I allow him (FINALLY!) to change his voicemail, recorded about 4 years ago while he was still in elementary school and I reluctantly agreed.

NOT before vlogging it, first — with his permission, of course — increasing my "break curfew and I show this to your girlfriend" arsenal by a hefty margin, because I am an expert multi-tasker, like that 🙂

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

February 18, 2013
Taking a Backseat

Traveling with younger kids is hard, trust me, I know. Our minivan has plenty of battle scars — not to mention, unidentifiable stains, which will stay that way, because, seriously, I don't even WANT to know!

I am STILL finding petrified food, circa 2006.

My husband, Garth (not his real name) refers to the minivan as the S.S. Movable Feast, ever since the ant infestation…that ONE time…and who knew ants have a very keen sense for fishy crackers, right?!?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

I have clocked in a lot of miles, driving kids to and from…well…everywhere and spent countless number of hours…sitting in traffic…or fighting my way through parking lots, sometimes ALL in the same day.

I grew accustomed to it, pretty quickly, and often times would steal a brief glimpse of my kids in the rear view mirror, staring at the back of my head or slumped in their car seats, fast asleep.

I also became quite adept at back-handing them their juice boxes (fishy crackers, not so much) while we discussed real meaning of life sort of stuff.

Like, what happens when you hold your nose, fart and sneeze at the same time? Would your brain ooze out of your ears or your eyes bleed boogers?

The answer, by the way, is: not yet.

My kids grew up in our minivan (me too!) and, now that my oldest is driving and with the middle girl applying for her learner's permit this spring (HOLD ME!), I am slowly beginning to get used to the idea of not having to drive…especially, if I really don't want to…sort of.

Today, I feel it safe to say: traveling with grown kids is even harder, because this is what happens when your 14 year-old reaches 6 feet on the measuring wall.

Guess I should start getting used to this view, eh?

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

January 30, 2013
WoW, At Our House, We Take Electronic Entertainment Very Seriously

My brother and sister-in-law are big-time World of Warcraft fans and recently gifted my 13 year-old with 6 months of game time. Considering my son has been BEHHHHHHHHHHHH-ging us for a subscription (it's free to play up to level 20 or something, which is like 5 minutes to a 13 year-old) inviting him into their guild effectively up-ped my brother's and sister-in-law's wow-factor by a hefty:

"WOW, you guys are SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, AWWWWWWWWWWWESOME!"

Yeah, as if they needed any help in THAT department.

Aaaaaaanyway, my son has been hinting at an expansion pack for WoW, for a couple of weeks now, and mentioned it again on the way home from the pediatrician's on Tuesday.

"I know, Mists of Pandaria, it was released today."

What?!? I read Game Informer.

"You could add it to your Christmas or birthday list."

Aaaaaaand, my coolness factor dropped by an unsurprising: "UGH! You ALWAYS say that!" He's got about half the money saved from his grass-cutting earnings (we got a lot of grass, don't judge) but, I would not loan him the other half, yeah I'm mean like that.

Then the inevitable happened.

"What if I do extra chores around the house?"

Oh, I know that there are folks who feel you shouldn't pay your kids to do chores around the house and, in theory, I totally agree.

I also believe selective hearing is a terrible thing and may be…no, wait…MOST DEFINITELY IS…my undoing.

"Go…up…wet…from…the floor!"

[blank stare]

"I said…pick…the…towels…off!"

[sound of crickets chirping]

Long story, short (you're welcome!) I'm tired (not to mention, sick of stepping over wet towels) so I agreed to loan him the other half of the cost (stupid expansion packs) in exchange for housecleaning services and suggested that perhaps it would be a good idea if we put something in writing.

"I'll draw up a contract as soon as we get home!"

Aaaaaaand, he did:

[click for a better view]

Morale of the Story: What is it with him and leaving wet towels on the floor?!?

WOW! I was thinking along the lines of 2 weeks. Perhaps I should have my 13yo negogiate ALL of my contracts. For a small fee, of course. Now, if he would just put AS MUCH effort into pre-algebra, we'd probably have his college tuition paid for by now, right?!?

Stupid expansion packs, dumbass World of Warcraft.

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

September 28, 2012
See what I did? Notice how THAT didn’t work out very well? Don’t do it THAT way, okay?

As a blogger (or blog-guh, if you're from Jersey) I'm often times asked for my opinions on various family-related subjects and have even been allowed to share my thoughts on really important stuff (like, helping to make blog comments count) every now and again.

Isn't this the rock you slipped and fell off of when you were little, mom?!?

Aaaaand, not because I'm some sort of expert or anything. It's just that raising 3 teens, 1 tween and killer dust bunnies (be careful, they bite!) my husband Garth (not his real name) and I have become quite accustomed to expecting the unexpected.

Sort of like jumping waves at the beach, really.

My husband's first response would mostly likely be "Okay, relax, this too shall pass, let's just move along," right after my obligatory "Holy crap on, a stick!" acknowledgement of just how quickly FUBAR life can get.

Ummmmm, so, like, where's Mama Bear?!?

In other words: I am just another mom, trying to hold it together, just
like everybody else, who's maybe grown a little more accustomed to
dealing with crap…on a stick!!!

Which is why, rather than doling out worthless little pieces of advice
pellets from my parenting Pez dispenser (sorry, been watching too many
late night episodes of Cheers lately), I believe in leading by example.

Or, not.

"Hrmph, I think Unfriendly Neighbor bought the house next door."

Our 104 year-old neighbor moved into an assisted living facility, her house was on the market for only about a month when it went under contract and in the house next hers lives the neighbor who hates my kids.

"How do you know HE bought it?"

I have this TERRIBLE habit of thinking out loud. Which, of course, then opens me up to being challenged by anyone who happens to be around at that particular moment. This time, it was my 13 year-old son.

"Well, the house sold this month."

In the 19 years that we've lived here, I can count on one hand the times Unfriendly Neighbor has helped us with keeping Ms. Grace's lawn manageable.

"Aaaaaand, he's mowing the lawn AGAIN!"

I mean, NOT that he is supposed to or anything, however, Unfriendly Neighbor's got a riding mower and…wait for it…ours has been broken for years.

"Oh, I said hello to him, is that bad?"

[blink-blink-blink]

"Aaaaand, he actually said hello back."

[blank stare]

"So, maybe he doesn't hate us as much as YOU think he does."

Okay, my turn.

"How do you know?"

Brilliant, right? That'll learn my son. Challenge an adult, that's fine, be ready to back your argument up with fact(s).

"Because, I went to cut the hill for you and it was already done."

Dammit.

My husband fixed our self-propelled mower so it actually, you know, self-propels now. So, I tackled the small-ish field behind our pool yesterday, where the kids play softball, soccer and such, ignoring Unfriendly Neighbor as he rode by, not caring whether or not he heard me cursing like a truck driver each time the damned thing stalled in the high grass.

"Maybe he felt bad and saw that it was taking you a real long time."

[blank stare]

"It's a good thing I waved and said hello to him then, right?"

Yep. MUCH smarter than me.

[flash-forward to earlier this morning]

"So, it turns out Unfriendly Neighbor did buy the propery next door."

Leave it to Garth (not his real name) to take the intiative to, you know, actually check real estate records.

"Well, he IS cleaning the place up real nice."

Not that I'll be baking him a cake, anytime soon or anything.

"Maybe it will help our property value go up, a little more, too."

Then again, what do I know?

"Maybe I'll bake him a cake or something."

Stupid grass. Dumbass economy.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

September 1, 2012
On the Other Hand, My Build-A-Bear’s Name Would Totally Be FUBAR!

The kids and I were sitting around the kitchen table — actually, I was working on finalizing a few end of summer writing projects, while they hovered in and around my laptop, wondering out loud when, if ever, we would actually do something "fun" before school starts — while we ALL reminisced about how much fun school "used" to be.

Incredibly enough, my 13 year-old son actually admitted that he kind of liked going to school (if you have a son, especially between the ages of 10 and grown, then you know why this is so gosh-darned incredible) most especially, after I pulled him out of the car and dragged him to the curb screaming.

His gym teacher, who stood at the ready and fielded the boy to the door every morning of kindergarten, will totally back me up on this one.

"Remember the thing about Sniper Bear?"

Long story, short (you're welcome) my son also had this thing….ummmmm….okay, to try and put this as delicately as possible, so as not to scare parents of younger children….the boy could effectively turn the most benign and non-threatening object into a weapon.

"Oh yeah, I drew it in kindergarten or something."

For example: while future Martha Stewarts of the world imagined an empty paper towel roll into a rain stick or kaleidoscope….my son would fashion into a state of the art rocket launcher….complete with thermal imaging and night vision.

"Actually, it was your first in-class project for 2nd grade."

Needless to say, although I haven't found a picture of an ammo vest as perfectly described as he did in crayon, my son's bear almost didn't make it up on the wall for back-to-school night.

"Nuh-uh, I remember 'cause the class had a bathroom."

Yes, his kindergarten class had a bathroom and he remembers this for a whole other reason I won't bother going into (you're welcome, really!) because, quite frankly, I'm STILL trying to forget THAT incident.

"No, it was Mrs. H.'s class and I know for sure because I blogged about it."

I did a quick search, found it (blogged about Sniper Bear back on September 20, 2006) and read the entire blog post to them.

"OMG! I can't believe you called my teacher Mrs. Gives-a-crap-load-of-Homework!"

Actually, I blogged her as Mrs. Gives-a-shit-load-of-Homework and, well, contrary to popular opinion, I do make a concerted effort to censor myself every now and again.

"She was my favorite teacher!"

Mine, too. Although, this teacher did give a shit…I mean…crap load of homework for 2nd grade, I think (a worksheet for every subject, every night, UGH!) my son was allowed to take Sniper Bear home for a quick makeover so that she could hang Cammo Bear up on the wall in time for back-to-school night.

"Wait a minute, was that when you set the house on fire?"

[blank stare]

"In your blog post, you mentioned the dishwasher blew up or something."

Actually, it was the dryer that caught fire. The dishwasher blew up a few days before and no I did NOT set the house on fire that one time (not on purpose, anyways) and we ALL agreed that my build-a-bear would totally have been FUBAR!

Aaaaaand, now that I'm thinking on it some more, you might want to vacuum out your lint vents…every now and again…just sayin'.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

July 16, 2012